According to my Greek grandmother there are two types of people in this world: Those who are in relationships and those who wish they were.
(Actually, there are lots of ‘two types’ of people in her world: Greeks and non-Greeks, people with and without Foxtel, people she sends Christmas cards to and people she does not…)
And, according to her, those women not in a relationship can be divided into either women who wish they had a boyfriend and women who wish they had a girlfriend. The end.
(This argument is only ever offered about the ladies because men do not end up barren, haunted old spinsters who collect cans of beans and other people’s cats. Apparently.)
According to this logic there does not exist anywhere in the world people who are single and happy. Like properly happy. You can’t find them. They’re a myth. A lie told around the world. Like ‘leggings are a substitute for pants’ or ‘I had a good day jeans shopping.’
According to my grandmother, everyone, no matter who you are, needs amorous companionship. There are some 2 million homes in Australia that contain only single people. Are they happy? Discuss.
Apparently coupledom is ‘natural.’ It’s like the hot bread section of the buffet – the place where everyone wants to be. It’s our default mode and no matter what people say deep down we are social creatures who yearn to be paired off/married off/pissed off with another soul forever and ever amen.
Now I’m a bit of a feminist. I’m all about life choices and alternate pathways and rainbows and moonbeams and having whatever kind of relationship floats your boat. I know lots of happy single people who don’t want or need relationships and live utterly fulfilling exceptional lives solo. I know that you don’t need a partner or kids to live a life surrounded by love and contentment. I’m not single at the moment – I’m in a long distance relationship because I’m a moron who likes to feel sad at unexpected moments and cry at toilet paper commercials. But if something happened and I was single again I’d have no qualms about taking the unescorted path through life. (I was going to write ‘solo’ again but thesaurus suggested I use ‘unescorted’. I think it sounds like a fancier voyage through life draped in fine jewels, feather boas and clutching martini glasses…)